Chapter 91: Severe Injury

My father beat me again, his palms slapping my head one after another. Several strikes were especially hard on my ears, making them buzz incessantly.

“Lan Shan, how can you be so shameless?”

I sat there without moving, without crying, without reacting. I only heard my mother crying and shouting, “Stop! Stop! If you keep hitting her, she’ll die!”

My father roared at her, “What does a woman know? If I don’t hit her, she’ll do even more disgraceful things.”

My mother rushed over, hugging me protectively and kneeling on the sofa to beg my father, “Yi Guangshan, stop! Stop! Do you want to kill her?”

I felt utterly drained. No matter how hard I tried, no one was ever satisfied.

“Mom, don’t worry about me. Let my dad beat me to death.”

This sentence completely enraged my father. He shoved my mother aside, seized my hand like a small chick, dragged her out, slammed the door, and locked it. He snarled viciously, “Let no one stop me. Today I will kill this stinking shameless creature.”

Outside, my mother cried and shouted for Yi Hua Yang: “If you keep hitting, she’ll die—hurry and persuade your father!”

My father paced about, searching for something. Suddenly he yelled, “Hua Yang, take your mother away.”

Yi Hua Yang’s voice came faintly: “Mom, you know my dad’s temper. Let him vent. If you want to blame anyone, blame Lan Shan for being unfilial.”

Rong Lu Zheng added, “Auntie, we shouldn’t interfere. Let’s go first.”

My mother’s voice gradually faded. I lifted my head and saw my father emerge from the storage room holding something.

It was a leather whip—the family heirloom. They said that when my great-great-grandfather was still a child, this whip had never once failed the Yi family.

The last time I had almost killed those two despicable men, my father had tried to use this whip on me. My grandfather had hidden it, saying my father was a reckless brute. To prevent him from beating me to death, grandfather had concealed the whip here.

Good intentions turned to harm. I had hidden it so perfectly to keep my father away, yet he still found it.

My father slammed the whip onto the coffee table, cracking it with several fine splits. He loomed over me and asked, “What your sister told you—is it true?”

I stayed silent, lowering my head and refusing to meet his gaze.

He gritted his teeth. “Very good. Very good. I’ll see how long you can hold out.”

The first lash struck my shoulder and then my neck. I bit my tongue and endured without a word.

“Your wings are hardened, huh? Watch me beat you to death—this disgrace to our family’s name. Speak! Is what your sister said true?”

Another lash came. I stood up and shouted, “Yes! She is telling the truth. I became the mistress of a wealthy man, I mingled with him, I took contraceptive pills. All of it was my doing. Beat me to death. I no longer wish to live.”

I poured it all out in one breath and stepped forward to face my father.

I was prepared to die. I knew he never softened his heart.

He bit his lip and staggered back a step, gripping the sofa armrest. Then he swung the whip at me wildly.

“Beat you to death! Beat you to death! Look at your unfilial ways! Look at your shamelessness! Look at your self-destruction! Look at you...”

In the end he could not finish. He only struck harder and harder, each blow falling on my body.

I curled up in agony, teeth clenched, refusing to make a sound or shed a tear.

Perhaps my refusal to submit drove my father mad. The final lashes were especially brutal. One struck my neck, and I saw blood spray out, splattering across the teapot on the table.

This was what they called skin and flesh blooming, so painful.

But compared to what Luo An Ge had given me, it was nothing.

I covered my neck, feeling blood seep between my fingers and pour down my clothes. Looking down, my sleeves were shredded to ribbons, my entire body drenched in blood.

I thought I was dying. I even composed an epitaph in my mind—plainly: “This person is gone.” More poetically: “She loved this world yet was ruthlessly abandoned by it.”

Still, before the end, I wanted to say one last thing: “You always only believed Hua Yang. Since that is your choice, I should never have been born. You should have smothered me at birth.”

This was my outburst, but my father took it to heart. He gathered all his strength and whipped me once more.

This blow landed on my ear. The buzzing vanished, replaced by a deafening roar. My right ear went completely deaf.

I still did not cry. One hand clutched my neck, the other my ear. Blood flowed everywhere. I did not know where to press. I felt like the protagonist in a war film riddled with bullet wounds.

Suddenly, several loud bangs echoed inside the struck ear, faintly bringing my mother’s distant sobs.

My father suddenly gasped, dropped the whip, and collapsed onto the sofa. I saw him crying. He made no sound, only wiped away tears. Finally he whispered, “You are so young... what will you do in the future?”

Hearing those words, I cried out without warning. But the motion tore at my wounds. I tried to sit up and tell him not to cry, yet the moment I moved, heart-splitting pain exploded through me.

I opened my hands. Both palms were soaked in blood. I stared at them in shock.

The door was kicked open. Through the haze I saw my grandfather standing there, gripping a kitchen knife. Shu Congxuan followed anxiously behind him.

I called out to Grandfather. I could not draw breath and fainted.

I lay unconscious for two days, burning with fever and babbling deliriously, laughing and weeping like a madwoman.

The doctor said my entire body was covered in wounds, the worst being on my back and ear. My back was a mess of shredded flesh and blood; the suturing doctor declared he had never seen such severe injury. My right ear, ruined by bleeding, had suffered temporary deafness.

These details were told to me later by Shu Congxuan. My grandfather had burst in with the knife, placed it before my father, and vowed viciously, “Yi Guangshan, if my granddaughter suffers any harm, I will fight you to the death!”

Yi Hua Yang and Rong Lu Zheng tried to speak. Grandfather waved them away. “You have no right to open your mouths. Get out.”

With my back so badly injured, I could only lie in bed. With one ear ruined, I could only listen with the remaining ear to Shu Congxuan recount the harrowing scene.

I asked him to fetch congee for me. He trusted me and soon returned. When he left, tears poured from his eyes like a broken faucet.

I no longer cared to question what roles Rong Lu Zheng and Yi Hua Yang had played, nor to resent my father for his cruelty. Any father who learned these things would be furious.

He had not beaten me to death—that was already mercy.

I had always been the stubborn type who refused to back down. Even when fate offered hints, I would not turn.

But this time my father had beaten me awake. I should turn back.

Perhaps this was my fate. I would recognize it even if I did not wish to.

When Grandfather came to see me, I felt guilty, afraid he would ask how all this had happened.

I did not want to lie to him, but I also did not want to tell the truth.

Fortunately he never asked. He turned his back to peel apples for me, murmuring softly.

Using only one ear, listening was difficult. I shifted closer, still unable to catch the words.

I had to ask, “Grandpa, what are you saying? I can’t hear.”

I noticed his hand trembling and his voice unsteady. I called out again.

He continued peeling, shoulders shaking. I was frightened, jumped from the bed, and knelt before him. I saw tears on his face.

I cried, “Grandpa...”

He wiped his eyes, forced a smile, and said, “Grandpa didn’t cry. Grandpa feels old now. I can no longer protect you.”

I begged, “Grandpa, beat me. Hit me hard. It’s all my fault. Kill me.”

He wept, “Granddaughter, if beating you would help, Grandpa would hate to beat you to death—for you are unfilial. But no use. Once some things happen, they can never be undone.”

Finally he helped me lie back, peeled the apples into small pieces, and fed them to me. I ate with tears, feeling my heart so heavy.

People came to visit one after another. Li Wanqiu and Wen Yuan arrived as if by private plane, their gifts filling the room. She sat beside my bed, feeding me imported cherries, her eyes red as a little rabbit’s.

I teased, “Stop it. The hospital has no water shortage.”

She suddenly set down the bowl, hugged me, and whispered into my ear, “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I hate seeing you hurt. I hate to kill those people...”

I patted her hand and asked about Xia Qi and Jiang Chenghuan.

She gave a meaningful look. Wen Yuan slipped out like a dutiful wife.

Li Wanqiu held my hand. Her mouth was wide open, her voice loud, yet to my deaf ear it sounded like a mosquito’s hum. After a long time I caught only fragments.

Li Wanqiu had not told Xia Qi. She believed it was not the time. She felt Jiang Chenghuan’s bastard deserved a fatal blow.

Shu Congxuan never left the hospital. He was capable, even Grandfather praised him highly. The two got along well, sharing occasional drinks when dining out.

When only we two remained, neither of us spoke. He would sit beside the bed watching television or flipping through magazines. More often he pushed me downstairs to sit in the sun.

The days seemed to return to before, yet only I knew everything had changed.

Before, I had been carefree, innocent, pure, untouched. Now I reeked of filth, and even I felt dirty.

My mother came too, daily bringing home-cooked meals to the hospital. Every time she saw me she cried. I grew annoyed and asked her to leave.

Yi Hua Yang and Rong Lu Zheng never came. I guessed they did not dare; Grandfather would not allow it.

My father did not come either. It was said he had locked himself in the study that night. The next morning his eyes were swollen from crying, and he could barely speak.

I felt deeply sad. From childhood they had always said I was unfilial. This was the first time anyone had cried for me—and it was like this. How ironic.

My mother spoke to me, but I could not hear. She repeated herself. I only caught her calling my name, the rest lost in the fog.

I had always believed in striking the south wall and never turning back. Even when fate offered warnings, I would not retreat.

But this time my father had beaten me awake. I would turn back.

Perhaps this was my fate. I would accept it even if I did not want to.